write me well

it's that time again, when i retreat to the forests of morris county and write with twenty nine other poets for an entire weekend. these six month intervals are one way to mete out time. so much changes, but having touchstones along the way is a blessing.

i often go there and lose myself in being there. i arrive exhausted and sleep a lot. though, i am managing that exhaustion better now, and the constraints on my energy are much reduced since taking up teaching.

i would like to go there and just be there, but i have a paper to write, which includes reading a book and three journal articles. perhaps this is what i need, some time away to write and think outside my daily domain.

i have seen glimpses of poems cutting through the sky like jetliners intent on arriving somewhere unreachable to me, at that moment.

i have felt the familiar brush of words so close that i could feel their warm breath, but they eluded me.

but not for long.

i have been backloading for quite some time. have written one poem since mid-april when i started my second master's program, and the mental chaos that goes with dividing your time thus. my mind feels a lot like pinterest at the moment, a whole lot of potential, but no organization so to speak. unless you are willing to rifle through endless streams of information, without any guarantee of finding what you might be looking for, then you ought not to bide your time trying to get any meaning in any timely fashion.

last night i sat in the audience, front row while my daughter performed with her chorus. i could see her eyes drop down to see if i was looking at her, and she would sing all the more pronounced when i would be there watching her. i'm no fan of school performances, but this one was truly delightful.

i sat there, smiling at all the kids. enjoying the roundness, squareness, pointy chinnedness of their faces, their hair cuts, their manner with song, and just enjoyed the whole ordeal.

but of course, as soon as i could, i lit on outta there, and went to sleep. days start early here, and i was tired. not as tired as the man who snored between songs (and the choir mistress was halted in midair, like coughing in some golfer's backswing), but had to press on, face forcing a smile. i was that close, i could see it all.

and it was divine.